The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face
by thewailingwoman
Summary: It's the first day of third grade at Beacon Hills Elementary School, and Stiles Stilinski has just seen a face he's sure to never forget.


The dim lighting faded into the room, the birds outside chirping, the faint scent of bacon in the air. "Stiles," a voice beckoned, the tone melodic and sweet. "Wake up, sweetheart." The young boy stirred in his sleep, an inaudible murmur creeping from his lips. "School today," the female continued, laying a gentle hand upon his head and stroking it softly.  
"School?!" Stiles suddenly chirped, springing up from the bed, a giant grin plastered on his face. He'd always enjoyed going to school, plus, it was the first day. How much more exciting could it get?  
Mrs. Stilinski chuckled at her son, followed by a quiet cough. "Get dressed, I made your favorite for breakfast." With that, she gave her son a gentle peck on the head, and slipped out of the room, shutting the door behind her.  
The small boy moseyed over to his dresser, stripping from his superhero pajamas and putting on the outfit that his mother had set out for him. After grabbing his shoes, he sprinted down the steps. The fumes from the pancakes filled his nostrils, enough to make his stomach grumble.  
His father sat at the table, the daily paper in hands, as his mother scooped up a few pancakes that had just finished frying.  
"Morning," his father stated, giving him a pat on the back.  
"Gooooood Moorning," the boy singsonged in return, taking a seat beside his dad. His father had recently became the chief of the police force. He couldn't be more proud.  
Mrs. Stilinski brought the warm plate over to her son, placing it right in front of him.  
"Thanks," he told her, before allowing his eyes to admire how she set up the meal for him. He wasn't allowed to uses knives. Not only was he far too young, but a recent fiasco at his cousin's birthday party with a knife and cake. Let's just say it was definitely not pretty.  
"So," his father began, "Excited for your first day?"  
Sticking his fork into a pancake bite, he shoved it into his mouth. "Definitely!" he exclaimed, his mouth filled. His manners were still a work in progress.  
Both of his parents laughed, as the morning continued on.

Mrs. Stilinski wrapped her frail arms around her son, pulling him in for a tight hug before he had to go. Lately, she'd been feeling quite sick, and had a doctor's appointment later in the day.  
"I love you, mommy," the little boy whispered into her stomach, which was barely audible.  
"I love you too."  
With that, he released his grip, and waltzed out the door, waving to both his parents as he came to a hault outside the house. The bus would be here shortly, so he didn't have to wait too long.  
Within minutes of him standing on the sidewalk, a large bus strolled down the road, nearly hitting the hyperactive child. He hopped on, taking a seat beside another young boy. His bangs hung in his face, almost covering his dark eyes.  
"Hey, Scott!" he chirped, a toothy grin on his face as he began to kick his legs rapidly.  
"Hi, Stiles," the other boy responded, his tone softer than Stiles'.  
The duo had met three years prior, in kindergarten. Ever since then, they'd been the best of friends, and intended on keeping it that way.  
"I'm super excited! Do you like my new shoes? My mom says they make me look cool. Look, do you see? Scott, can you see them? They have Flash on them! It works so well because I'm fast like Flash is. Well, not that fast. But kind of fast. Do you get it? Scott? Scott?"  
"Woah," Scott said, his eyes on Stiles' shoes. Turns out his mom was right, they were pretty cool.  
"I still haven't really figured out how you tie your shoes, so my mom made me get velcro. But my dad says that velcro might be better anyways. Sometimes I don't get why people use shoes."  
"Me either."  
This was the usual conversation between the two boys. Scott was quiet by nature, which made it quite easy to ramble, which could sometimes become pretty random.

Upon their arrival at the school, the two boys walked in to the classroom together. It was a great deal larger, and the windows overlooked the whole parking lot. His eyes searched around the room for his desk, finally finding it. It was right beside the window, but that might not have been the best idea. He tended to get distracted by the smallest things, which could be blamed on his ADHD.  
His hazel eyes continued to explore the room as the clock turned to eight o'clock, which was when the first bell rang. Nibbling on his lips, his legs restlessly kicked, causing the girl with pigtails in front of him to turn around and give him a frightening gawk.  
"Sorry I'm late," a voice chimed at the door.  
Stiles' eyes shot to the door, that thing in his chest nearly skipping a beat. At this age, he always thought that the girls around him had cooties, but she was ...different.  
Her long strawberry blonde hair hung in loose curls which cascaded down her back, which also framed her heart-shaped face perfectly. Those emeralds that were meant to be eyes where framed by long, thick lashes, which seemed to look right through you. Her lips were full and plump.  
The teacher directed her into the classroom, and he noticed that the seat beside him was sit empty. Maybe he would be lucky enough to sit by her.  
And surely, he was right.  
The redhead took a seat beside Stiles, barely even noticing him. His thoughts began racing, as fast as an eight year old's could. Was he supposed to say hi? Ignore her? What if he smelled weird?  
She seemed kind of nervous. Maybe if he broke the ice, she wouldn't feel as nervous around him.  
"H-Hi," he stammered, blinking as he tried to get her attention.  
With one whip of her head, her curls were tossed in the hair, shooting the scent of something tropical in through his nostrils.  
"Hi," she responded, one eyebrow raising up.  
"My name's Stiles." Calm and cool. Calm and cool.  
"Stiles?" The surprise in her tone was clearly evident. Obviously this girl didn't really have a sense of manners, which wasn't exactly expected from an eight year old.  
"Uh, yeah. I dunno where it comes from, really," he chuckled, trying to shake it off. "What's yours?"  
"Lydia," she said with a nod, pressing those beautiful lips together.  
"You're really pretty," he suddenly blurted out, his face flushing once he realized his mistake.  
A smile grew on her face as she lifted the petite hands which had originally laid in her lap. "Thanks."  
With that, the teacher began to speak, introducing herself, and talking about some fun activities that the class would be doing.  
This was going to be a long year.


End file.
